


Sweet Torment

by therestlessbrook



Series: sweet [3]
Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 22:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therestlessbrook/pseuds/therestlessbrook
Summary: The reader gets sick and Venom takes care of her.





	Sweet Torment

You wake and instantly know something is wrong. You can feel the strangeness in your bones, like a chill that refuses to budge. Your legs ache and your head has a strange heaviness to it.

You think of the two glasses of wine you drank last night and hope it’s merely dehydration. That must be it. So you walk into the kitchen and brew a cup of coffee. The warmth feels good against your hands but the taste is a little too acrid, the tang too sharp. You drink half and toss the rest out.

Eddie comes out of the bathroom, hair damp from the shower and a towel wrapped around his waist. “‘Morning,” he murmurs. He makes a beeline for his laptop—which is pretty normal. For him, the news matters more than clothes. And with Venom, he doesn’t truly get cold. You watch him fondly as he opens up his news feed, eyes darting over the words.

You’re a little glad for his distraction. Particularly when you pour a cup of tea, instead of coffee, and sweeten with a heavy dollop of honey. This tastes better, and you savor the sweetness and heat that settles in your belly. Part of you wants to return to bed, but there’s no time. Although the thought of food turns your stomach.

That isn’t good. But then again, this could be a cold. Just an irritating cold.

You take a little too long in the shower, lingering beneath the steaming water, and your teeth chatter when you towel yourself dry. You’re a little lightheaded, and you have to place a hand on the countertop to steady yourself.

You’re going to be fine.

You meet your client over lunch, and you pick at the sandwich you ordered. Dry sourdough scatters along your plate, and you ignore your food in favor of taking notes. This woman has a new business making crocheted dog scarves and needs a logo designed—it’s all simple work, but you don’t trust yourself to remember details at the moment. You find your mind drifting away, and you have to make an effort to stay focused.

When the meeting is finished, you check your phone. You’ve got a missed text from Eddie.

_Meeting with two editors about an investigative piece about rent gouging. Might be fun, but would require going undercover and pretending to look at places. Want to come along and pretend to want to rent a place downtown?_

You smile at your phone and type your reply. _I’ve got a logo to design._

_Not today. I mean, next week or so._

_We’ll see._

Normally, you would have indulged in a bit more textual banter, but your eyes hurt looking at the screen. There’s a throbbing behind your forehead, and when you rise from the table, the world swims. You squeeze your eyes shut for a few moments, then force yourself to reopen them.

You take BART back to Berkeley, and the thrum of the train seems more irritating than usual. When you get off at the station, you’re shivering. Your laptop bag is heavy on your shoulder, and you’re grateful when the apartment building comes into view. The elevator ride seems to take an eternity, and your unsteady fingers need three tries to get the key into the door. Finally, you’re home—you drop your laptop onto the couch and drag a heavy throw over yourself. It feels too good to sprawl there, and all thoughts of work drift away.

You fall into a light doze, and when you awaken, it’s to the sound of the front door opening. Eddie strides inside, smiling a little when he sees you on the couch. “Sleeping on the job,” he says. “No wonder you didn’t want to—”

He cuts off abruptly. His eyes narrow, and then he takes a step closer.

“What is it?” you ask.

Eddie’s gaze seems to zero in on you. “You smell… wrong.”

“Well, thanks?”

He shakes his head. “No, not bad. I mean—not _human_ bad. With Vee—you know I can hear better. See better. Smell better.”

“That explains how you always find the nearest chocolate shop.”

“Well, you normally smell,” he gives a little shrug. “Like you. It’s kind of hard to explain. But now you smell…”

Venom manifests from Eddie, their head peering toward you. “Weak,” they say. “You smell of weakness.”

And perhaps that should worry you, Venom being a predator and all. But you merely smile. “Like I sad: thanks, big guy.”

“You could be a little more polite about it,” says Eddie, giving Venom a little flick of his fingers. Venom merely coils around his hand, affectionate as they twine around his arm.

“I’m fine,” you say. “I just need a hot bath and some rest.”

Venom and Eddie eye you suspiciously—and that’s just not fair. There’s two of them, working in tandem, and only one of you. “You sure?” asks Eddie.

You rise from the couch, and to your satisfaction, you’re steady. You walk around the furniture, passing not too close to Eddie and Venom, just in case. The bathroom is a little too bright and you blink several times when you run the hot water. The shower this morning felt so good that you hope a bath will settle some of the pain in your muscles and the chill that won’t seem to leave you. You hear Eddie padding into the bedroom, and feel a little relieved he hasn’t tried to press the issue.

You’ve always been self-sufficient. Even when you’re sick, you know how to take care of yourself; you’ve always had to, since you moved to the city by yourself. It’s a hard habit to break.

You sit in the hot water, and it does feel good. Your head has started to throb, but the steam seems to loosen your breathing. You rest your head on the edge of the tub and close your eyes. When the water begins to cool, you force yourself to stand, reaching for a clean towel. The water turns cold on your skin, and you shiver all the way to the bedroom, where you pull on flannel pajamas you normally wear during the winter. But now—now you need them.

“I was going to order in, if that’s okay,” calls Eddie from the living room. “What sounds good?”

Nothing, if you’re being honest. But you walk into the hallway. The world seems to circle around you—and it feels like when you stand too quickly after sitting; blackness flickers at the edges of your vision and your hand hits the wall. You try to stay upright but the hallway seems to turn sideways. The next thing you know, you’re on the floor. You push yourself to your elbows, still too dizzy to rise.

You hear Eddie before you see him. “Hun, what was that— _shit_.” His footsteps quicken, and then he’s beside you. “You okay?” His hand finds your cheek, and he curses again. “You’re burning up.”

“Funny,” you say, “I can’t get warm.”

“You’re sick,” he says flatly. “And none of this, ‘I’m fine’ bullshit. You should have told us you were really sick.”

“Didn’t want to be sick,” you say. Then, because the world still won’t stop spinning, you close your eyes. “Fuck.”

Eddie hooks an arm beneath your legs and one under your arm, lifting you easily. “Do you need a doctor?”

“I don’t think so.”

“We’ll see what your temperature is and then decide.” He carries you back to bed, settling you gently beneath the covers. “You’re shivering.”

“Everything hurts,” you murmur, snuggling beneath the blankets. “Feels like I got hit by a car.”

“You should have told us,” he repeats, smoothing a hand over your hair. His thumb rests gently by your temple, circling there. It feels nice. “You’ve taken care of us plenty of times.” He winces, then says aloud, “Vee is currently snarling about our home being invaded by tiny attackers, and yes, technically viruses are attackers but no, we can’t barricade them from the apartment, Vee. Doesn’t work like that.”

Venom manifests from Eddie’s shoulder, undulating like an irritated snake. “Your kind are too fragile,” they say. “A single microorganism can bring you down.”

“And music at the right frequency can turn you into a melted puddle,” you say, giving Venom a reproving little glare. “We all have our weaknesses.”

“They’re just worried,” Eddie says, with a little exhalation. He gives Venom his own frown. “And no, we’re not going to spawn just so you can give her a baby symbiote to keep her healthy. For fucks sake.”

You let out a surprised laugh. “Is that what you’re thinking, big guy?”

Venom leans in, tongue rasping across your dry skin. Across your shoulder, up your neck. It’s not seduction but comfort. “We cannot protect you from this kind of attack,” they say. “But if you were a host…”

“You don’t have to protect me from this, Vee.” You rest your hand on their head. “Humans get sick. It happens, and most of the time, we get better. And while it’s sweet that you want to help, I’d rather not have your symbiote kid in my head. If only because it would be super awkward to have sex with them around.”

Venom blinks. “We had not thought of that.”

“And if we are going to be coparents of a symbiote, we’re going to do it because we want a _kid_ ,” says Eddie. “Not because we want a _virus-defense system_.” 

Venom considers. “Yes. Someday.” 

“How about we get a thermometer and some meds for her,” says Eddie dryly. “Seems easier.”

They leave and return with said thermometer, along with a glass of water, two pills, and a hot water bottle. You take the water bottle gladly, tucking it against your chilled feet. Your temperature is high, but not so much that Eddie would insist on taking you to a doctor. Once the pills are swallowed and half the water drunk, Eddie says, “Vee wants their turn.”

“Of course.”

Venom flickers out of Eddie’s skin, covering him completely. They lean in, sniffing at you. “Kind of creepy, big guy,” you say, smiling.

“We don’t like this,” they reply. “You should smell of rain, of ocean winds, and that pear-scented soap you use.”

“That’s what I smell like to you?” you ask, genuinely interested. 

“Yes, but now you reek of pain.” One large hand rests beneath your chin, tilting your face upward. “What can we do?”

You shiver again. “Turn up the thermostat?”

A rumble goes through them. “We can do better.”

They climb atop the bed, their form shifting. Tendrils of black reach out to caress you, gently running over your legs and arms, your back and stomach. Then they curl around you, soft and warm. _So warm_. It feels like being wrapped in a heated blanket, only with the added benefit of a massage. You moan softly, finally able to relax. “No wonder Eddie never gets cold.”

“Better?” Venom asks, nuzzling at your cheek.

“Much.” You kiss the corner of their mouth. “Thanks.”

“Rest, sweetling.” Their hand strokes your hair, and a pleasurable tingle runs down your neck. “We’ll keep you warm until you’re well again.”

You drift off for a few hours. When you wake up, you feel a little better. More comfortable, anyways. 

You nudge Venom. “I have to pee.” They begin to tighten their hold on you and you squirm. “Oh, no, you’re not carrying me to the bathroom. I can manage.”

Venom makes a sound that another person might interpret as a growl, but you recognize it as a grumble. “We found you collapsed in the hallway.”

“You can stand outside the door if it makes you feel better.”

Venom relinquishes their grip on you, and you swing your legs over the side of the bed. You wait, and while you’re a little unsteady, it’s nothing like the dizziness of before. The meds must be working. You stand carefully and make your way to the bathroom. 

Once you’ve finished, you wash your hands and glance in the mirror. You look terrible: your hair’s a mess and your eyes are red-rimmed. In your previous relationships, you would have worried, but with Venom and Eddie—you’re comfortable. They’ve seen you at your worst, and you’ve seen them in all sorts of states. It’s never changed how you feel about them, and you know it’s reciprocated. It’s a comfort, even now. 

When you emerge from the bathroom, sure enough, Venom is standing by the door. “See? Just fine,” you say. 

Venom tilts their head, then before you can react, scoop you up. You let out a surprised squeak, and before you can protest, they’re carrying you to the living room. “Eddie says you should eat.”

“Hey, I said you didn’t need to carry me—”

“To the bathroom. We are carrying you to the couch. You should have stated your terms more carefully.”

You snort, and rest your head against their chest. “Did you pick up on a bit of lawyer-ing when you were bonded with Anne?”

“I did not,” says Venom. “But Eddie remembers quite a bit. He mentally recites it when he wants to last longer during sex.”

Venom winces, as if being kicked beneath a table. 

You burst out laughing. It feels good, even as the sound scrapes at your throat. 

“And why are we going to the couch?” 

“You are going to sit while we get food,” they reply. “Spicy soup. Tea. And then we’ll watch tv while you rest. You will get better.” 

“Sounds like you have this all planned out,” you say, as they set you gently on the couch. They scoop up the fallen throw blanket and wrap it around you. It’s a bit ridiculous—a hulking alien warrior trying to tuck you in. 

You catch their hand before they straighten. “Come here.” And you draw them down, kissing their cheek. “Thank you.”


End file.
